


Space Age Love Song

by SwiggitySwagNightmareStag



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Modern Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29940783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiggitySwagNightmareStag/pseuds/SwiggitySwagNightmareStag
Summary: Sara Murphy never believed in making wishes on shooting stars until the fateful night that one comes crashing into her life. A space craft carrying an injured armored stranger upends her quiet Kansas existence, and it’s up to the young nurse to save the day. Though he’s not much of a talker, it’s not long before Sarah finds something of a companion in the extraterrestrial known as Din Djarin.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Crash Into Me

**Author's Note:**

> Swiggity Swag, it’s the Nightmare Stag! I hope you enjoy this debut fic. Since I spend my days endlessly pining for Pedro Pascal, this idea was bound to come to me sooner or later.

_He crashed into her life like a falling star. The brightest star in the cosmos._

The world was always a lonelier place at night. Rural Kansas appeared much more desolate in the dark; the roads and the land seemed to stretch on forever, both leading to nothing. The whistling of the evening breeze was the only voice to be heard for miles.

A half-drunk glass of whiskey in hand, Sara craned her head skyward to gaze at the stars. At most times, it seemed, they were her only friends. At least there were plenty of them to go around.

Her shift at the Hillsboro Community Hospital had been a grueling one this evening. She had just managed to drag her weary bones home a little more than an hour ago and already the night was creeping into day. Though exhausted, she’d suddenly found herself wired the second she’d pulled into her driveway at nearly 3 a.m. Now coming up on 4 in the morning, she downed the rest of her whiskey in hopes of calming herself long enough to drop into dreamland. 

She had no reason to be awake so late, or early, rather. Sara had no one to pass the wakefulness with. The last of the only family she’d ever known had vanished from her life nearly a decade ago, leaving her with nothing but an old country house in the middle of nowhere that was far too big for a solitary woman such as herself. That house and memories.

There shouldn’t be any joy in thought of coming home to an empty house. No happiness at the thought of eating alone, sleeping along, living alone. But, as it began to happen more frequently, Sara came to realize that this rush of adrenaline she felt upon returning to her solitary homestead night after night was from the hope that she wouldn’t be lonely for long. One night she’d come home and there’d be someone worth coming home to. Someone waiting for her.

For now, though, Sara pulled herself to her feet, blinked the stars from her eyes, and prepared to head inside where she’d climb the stairs to her room and finally sleep the sleep of the dead. 

She had just yanked open the finicky screen door when she heard a peculiar thoom! Her tired eyes returned to the sky to see that it was ablaze with light. A star, like a white hot ember, arced through the night, tumbling, tumbling down. So bright. So fast. So BIG.

_That is_ not _a star_ , she thought.

Sara watched the object’s decent with her heart in her throat. What if it was a meteor? Or a guided missile gone astray? Should she take cover? Would there be enough time? Would it even matter? 

The time she could’ve spent moving was lost to an endless string of “what if’s” playing on a loop inside her head, and by the time her brain managed to squeeze a logical thought about running into the mix, the object was crashing to earth in the field behind her barn. 

She felt the impact from her porch; wobbled unsteadily on her feet as a tremor passed through the ground below. She could see the glow of flames in the distance. With the threat of a wildfire from space igniting the field beyond, with her house and all its memories in danger, she sprang into action.

Sara darted inside and made a beeline for the kitchen, retrieving the fire extinguisher from under the sink. Then, opting to take the back door, she darted back out into the chilly pre-dawn and ran as fast as her legs would carry her toward what she could only assume was Fox Mulder’s wet dream.

***

So, it definitely wasn’t a star. It wasn’t a meteor or a missile either. Nothing in her wildest dreams could have prepared her for what she was seeing. It was in pieces and it was on fire, but even partially destroyed Sara could positively identify (having watched enough cheesy sci-fi movies with her gramps to do so) an alien ship when she saw one.

“What kind of Superman origin story bullshit is this?” she wondered out loud.

The flames licking at the wreckage weren’t too big, and the small extinguisher did the trick for the most part. The dented silver exterior was still smoldering in some places by the time the canister was empty. Tossing the empty red cylinder aside, she stood and stared at the UFO in a mix of wonder and fear as another round of silence incessant questions bombarded her brain. Should she call someone about this? Who the hell was she supposed to call anyway: the cops, a scientist, the news, or all of the above? 

With a startling groan of metal and a hiss of pressurized air, a large door at the rear of the ship (or was it the front? She had no fucking clue) descended, assuming a new role as a ramp, or so it appeared. It was almost as if the ship were inviting her inside. 

Sara took a moment to peer into the vessel’s dark innards, then shook her head. She’d seen enough Ridley Scott movies to know that going inside was a terrible idea. Blindly investigating a mysterious extraterrestrial ship is how people ended up dead or, at the very least, pregnant with an alien baby. She wanted no part in either one of those scenarios if she could help it.

The rationalist inside of Sara urged her not to take another step farther; practically shouted at her to turn around and run the other way. But the nurse in her wouldn’t, couldn’t allow her to abandon someone who might be aboard and may be hurt, human or...otherwise. Damn. Sometimes she felt like she’d chosen the wrong profession.

Taking a cautious step up onto the ramp, jumping a bit at the echoing of her own footsteps, Sara called out to the darkness.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?”

When she got only silence for a response, she decided to forge on ahead into the belly of the great metal beast.

“Okay, I’m coming in so please just...don’t eat me and keep your tentacles to yourself.”

The cavernous ship was as black as night. In the distance she could see lights blinking, like stars in the night guiding her way. Sara felt along the walls blindly and inched forward with small, cautious steps.

“If anyone is in here be warned. I do _not_ like surprises and, so help me, if you jump out at me here in the dark I will punch first and ask questions later.”

As she drew closer to the flashing lights, she began to hear noise. What sounded like about five different alarms were blaring, but still nothing resembling a voice. 

Suddenly, the floor seemed to rise by a foot and she stumbled at the sudden change in elevation. Her arms flailed dramatically as she desperately reached for something, anything to grab onto. Sara hit the ground hard and loud, her cry of surprise cut short as her head thumped against the cold floor. 

Disoriented from the blow, she looked up and took in her surroundings with blurred vision. The alarms screamed at her from every direction, which was doing absolutely nothing to help her gradually building headache, and the lights blinked furiously in sync with the shrieking sirens. She could make out other objects now, what looked like buttons and knobs and levers and screens all illuminated by the incessant flashing of the warning lights. Damn her shit luck. Alone on this alien ship and she’d managed to stumble (literally) into the freaking cockpit. 

But where was the pilot? Okay, maybe whatever had been flying this saucer never heard her, had no idea she was here. Maybe it was an unmanned craft. There was still a chance she’d make it out of this incredibly foolhardy endeavor alive. Stiffly and carefully Sara rolled onto her back, glanced up, and immediately screamed. 

A face, or at least what she assumed was a face, more like a mask of some sort, peered down at her from above. Stifling another cry, she scrambled up to a sitting position and shinnied away until she felt her back hit wall. Even with that outburst, the creature didn’t appear to stir. After a few minutes of heavy breathing and vigilant observation, it didn’t appear that the alien was conscious.

Before she even realized she was doing it, Sara was on her hands and knees, creeping closer to where the sleeping being was collapsed heavily in what she figured to be the captain’s chair. Upon closer inspection, it looked more like a man than a monster. A man (or a woman) encased from head to toe in a suit of shimmering silver armor. Hell, it could have been a robot. 

Through the small t-shaped visor in the dome-like helmet Sara could see no traces of a face. She had no definitive way of knowing if the spaceman was truly slumbering or just waiting for her to get close enough to grab, and for a moment she hesitated to move any closer. But when she saw the small trickle of blood leaking from beneath the helmet and onto the right pauldron, her fear instantly vanished. Definitely not a robot; a living, bleeding person. RN powers activate!

“Hey! Hey, can you hear me?” Sara gave the shiny helmet a light tap, trying to conjure a response. “Come on spaceman, spacewoman, are you with me? Wake up!”

His or her head rolled limply to the side as the blood continued to run. Unconsciousness following a vehicular (or spacecraftular) crash was never a good sign, but Sara couldn’t know for certain until she saw the source of the blood how bad the damage was. Gripping the helmet between her sweating palms she began to slide it upward carefully. Before she could even get it past the wearer’s chin, a hand reached up and wrapped around her wrist, stopping her instantly. She flinched, in surprise rather than pain; their grip was unexpectedly gentle.

“Don’t-don’t take it off,” a very male voice stammered weakly. “You can’t...”

Sara was momentarily stunned. The alien spoke perfect English, and in a voice as soft as their grasp. She shook her head to reorganize her thoughts. This situation called for the utmost professionalism. When you’re a nurse, first impressions are everything. And she wasn’t representing just herself at this moment, but potentially the entire human race.

“Sir, I...it’s going to be alright, sir. I’m a nurse. I can help you, but I’ll need to assess the injury. I need to remove your helmet in order to-“

“ _Please_...”

Sara had entered this ship expecting to find a monster. What she’d never anticipated was that the monster could be just as frightened as she was. And that’s what she heard in the spaceman’s voice: fear. He was scared. Of _her_. And that’s when any remaining trace of her own fear vanished. She reached down and found one of his gloved hands and squeezed it gently in her own.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be alright. I’m going to help you. You’re safe.” With her other hand she caressed one side of his helmet and tried to imagine that she were stroking his own cheek. “You’re _safe_.”

He seemed to relax a bit under her touch, but that may have been from the second wave of sleep overtaking him. Sara released his hand, took a step back, took a deep breath, and began mentally preparing herself for the task ahead. 

Dragging a snoozing spaceman all the way to the house was not going to be an easy task, but it was one that had to be done. As a nurse, she’d be damned if she’d let a patient, extraterrestrial or otherwise, die on her watch.

Sara slid her arms around the limp man’s chest and began the first chore: hoisting him out of the chair. 

“Welcome to Earth.”


	2. Life On Mars?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara begins nursing her injured spaceman back to health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swiggity Swag, it’s the Nightmare Stag! I hope you are enjoying the ride so far. It’s a bit of a slow burn, but bare with me. I promise things will heat up soon.

By the time Sara managed to drag the semi-conscious spaceman across the expanse of her backyard and into her house, the sun was beginning to rise. Huffing and puffing and sweating bullets, she yanked him up the back steps, through door, pulled him through the kitchen and into the living room before finally flopping him (carefully) onto the couch. She took a minute, or five, to catch her breath before retrieving the industrial first aid kit from the bathroom cupboard. 

Being just an RN, she didn’t have a lot of experience administering sutures, but that didn’t stop her from learning how the job got done. When she returned with the supplies, the man had reawakened and was sitting upright with his head in his hands. 

“I can give you something for the pain,” Sara offered, setting the kit down on one of the end tables. “I imagine your head must be killing you.” 

The stranger nodded. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”   
  
“Oh, I can believe.” 

Rummaging through the box, she withdrew her suturing needles and thread, some gauze, disinfectant, a numbing agent, and a bottle of Tylenol and laid it all out on one end of the couch before taking a seat beside him.

“Okay. I know this was kind of a sore spot for you back there on your ship, but I’m going to need to remove your helmet in order to treat your injury.”

The man visibly tensed and shifted away ever so slightly, like a child shying away from the doctor. 

“I can’t,” he rasped. 

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to,” Sara said, crossing her arms firmly.

He offered her his hand then, palm turned up.

“Just...hand me the supplies and I’ll see to it myself. If you’d be so kind as to leave the room.”

“How are you going to stitch up the wound if you can’t even see it?” Sara snorted. “Unless you have eyes on the back of your head. Wait, you don’t, do you?”

“I’ll manage.” 

“Look, I have the proper medical training. You’re in good hands, I promise. You can trust me.”

“It’s not about trust,” he said before tilting his head to the side and rethinking the statement. “Well, it is, but it’s more about my creed.”

“Your _creed_?” Sara parroted, lifting one inquisitive eyebrow. 

“I’m not permitted to show my face to another living thing,” he said flatly. “This is the way.”

Her frustration was attempting to get the better of her, but Sara refused to let it. Part of her ethical code as a nurse, and as a person, was to always adhere to a person’s beliefs in regards to treatment. She was never one to judge an individual’s religious or spiritual practices; everyone had a right to their faith. That being said, she didn’t know what kind of cultist bullshit he was spewing but she refused to let it endanger his health.

“Then what about the back of your head?” she attempted to compromise. “I won’t even glance at the front so long as you let me check out the back. Your creed have anything against that?”

He was silent for a moment, contemplating his options, before finally shaking his head.

“That...would be alright, I guess.” 

Sara smiled victoriously. Score one for logic! 

“Then just turn the other way for me and, when you’re ready, remove your helmet, please.”

With a weary sigh he assumed the position. With his back to her he hesitantly began to lift his helmet from his head as she sanitized her hands and prepped the sutures for use.

His hair was thick and a little unruly, dark brown, and completely matted with sweat and blood. She could just make out the deep red line of a not too sizable gash somewhat hidden beneath his curls. 

“Okay, I’m going to touch you know. I’m going to apply some disinfectant and then some numbing cream. The first might sting a little.”

He nodded his understanding but did not speak. 

Sara felt him flinch the second her fingers brushed his scalp. Using gentle dabs, she used one piece of gauze to mop at the blood and then blotted the injury with disinfectant with another before applying some numbing cream.

“Okay, I’m going to give that a minute to kick in before I start stitching up the wound. In the meantime, I need you to do something for me.”

He started to turn toward her but caught himself. 

“And what’s that?”

Sara retrieved a compact mirror from the drawer of one of the end tables, then passed it to him over one of his shoulders. 

“Since I can’t assess your face, I’ll need you to do it for me. Look in the mirror and tell me if you see any other serious lacerations that may need stitches. Pay close attention to your eyes.”

“My eyes?” 

“Yes. Do your pupils look enlarged? If so, that could indicate potential damage to your brain. In that case I’ll have to insist on taking you to a hospital.”

The stranger reached back and took the mirror from her hand, his gloved fingers grazing hers as he did so. The unexpected contact sent a shiver down Sara’s spine. It wasn’t a shudder of fear; she definitely wasn’t afraid anymore. This was....something else. Something she couldn’t quite name.

Sara was so focused on trying to place the name of that feeling that she almost didn’t notice when he offered the mirror back to her.

“No other cuts,” he said matter of a factly. “My eyes are fine.”

She caught a glimpse of herself in the compact as she took it from him, their fingers failing to touch that time. Her cheeks had turned pink and she wasn’t fully sure as to why.

“That’s good,” she said, clearing her throat and taking the needle and thread in hand. “Okay, you should be nice and numb by now. I’m going to start stitching. You may feel a bit of tugging, but I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

“I can take it,” he huffed. “I’ve been through worse.”

He proved true to his word. He barely uttered a peep throughout the process except to say that it would have gone much faster with something called bacta spray.

“And what, pray tell, is ‘bacta’?”

“It’s used to accelerate the healing process. It can cure major injuries in minutes.”

“Sounds like pretty good stuff,” she said, snipping away the excess thread. “It puts Neosporin to shame, anyway.”

Sara wiped away some remaining blood and then tapped her patient on the shoulder.

“Okay, space cowboy, you’re done.”

He wasted no time pulling his helmet back on. Before turning back to gaze at her. 

“It feels...better. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Sara said, exiting the living room for the kitchen where she filled a glass with water from the sink. She returned and offered him the glass before pouring out two Tylenol capsules from the bottle she’d taken from the first aid kit and offering those to him as well. 

“These will help with the pain. _Then_ you may thank me.” 

He’d have to remove his helmet again to take the pills and, certain he’d wish to be alone to do so, Sara left once again, this time to find a pillow and a blanket.

***  
  


It wasn’t until she was trudging back downstairs with a thin sheet and a pillow from her own bed that she really stopped to think about what she was doing, and the realization brought her to a screeching halt about halfway down the staircase.

She was basically setting up camp for this man downstairs. She was inadvertently inviting a total stranger, one from outer space for shit’s sake, to sleep in her house. Where had all the logical caution and level headedness she’d displayed earlier suddenly disappear to? Sara should have known this would happen the second she shifted into “nurse mode”. She was always very possessive of her patients (not in a Kathy Bates in _Misery_ kind of way), and her compassion often overruled her sense of judgement. One day it would be the death of her, and she hoped that day wasn’t today. 

Coming to a speedy decision, Sara squared her shoulders, put on her serious face, and tromped down the rest of the stairs fully prepared to tell the stranger that he could sleep off his headache but then he’d have to hop back aboard his spaceship and zip back off to Mars. 

But her newly regained boldness vanished once again as soon as she took in the sight of the stranger curled up on the couch. She knew before she even heard him snoring that he was out like a light. Whatever journey he’d been on to get here must have been a long and difficult one, it was obvious the poor man was exhausted. Despite his intimidating armor, he looked downright innocent asleep. That same feeling she’d felt earlier when their hands had touched came sneaking back up on her, and it was clear that she wasn’t going to let him go anywhere anytime soon.

Creeping closer on her tip toes, Sara lifted his helmeted head gently and slid the pillow underneath. He didn’t even stir. She unfurled the sheet and draped it across his armored body before switching off the standing lamp that towered above him, bathing the living room in darkness. 

It was nearly 6 a.m. and her body screamed for sleep, even as the sun was coming up. As she climbed the stairs to her room, she happened one final glance over shoulder at her unconventional houseguest. 

“Good night, spaceman.”

  
  



	3. Strangers in Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Notes: The spaceman awakens in a strange new world and Sara will have to keep breakfast from burning before she gets her burning questions answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swiggity Swag, it’s the Nightmare Stag! Kind of a short chapter this time around; it looked so much longer as I was writing it. Din gets a little domestic in this one, so prepare to have your knees weakened.

_ “Take this,” he said pushing the glowing black blade into Bo-Katan’s hand. “Don’t argue with me this time, Kryze.” _

_ She wanted to dissent, of course. She always wanted to. But with the situation dire she bit her tongue. _

_ “The Darksaber is now in the hands of the rightful heir to the throne.” _

_ Bo-Katan’s grip tightened around the hilt of the blade, in anger and in pride. She stared into the t-shaped visor of her king for what she was beginning to fear would be the last time. She saw nothing. _

_ “My Lord, why does this sound like a goodbye?” _

_ “Because it is, Kryze. Maybe just for now. Maybe forever.” _

_ She watched stoically as he began to ascend the ramp of the Razor Crest Sequent.  _

_ “But sire, where will you go?” _

_ He stopped and turned to face her once more. He never thought he’d see the day when Bo-Katan was scared. _

_ “I don’t know. But the invaders are after me. If I can lead them away, then Mandalore will be left standing. With  you in my place.” _

_ He could sense her hesitation. How very unlike her. _

_ “It should be you, Kryze. It should have been all along.” _

_ Without her helmet handy, Bo-Katan used a smile to mask her growing concern. _

_ “Just...promise you will return. My brother.” _

_ He gave her an affirmative nod. _

_ “Just make sure I have a place  _ to _ come back to.” _

_ He’d always hated goodbyes. He’d never been a part of one that hadn’t hurt. So without another word he boarded his ship and let the ramp close behind him. He could hear the invaders approaching, their own vessels picking up speed as they zeroed in on their target. The bounty hunter had become the bounty. _

_ The Razor Crest Sequent roared to life and took to the skies, and he readied the ship for a quick jump into hyperspace. With the enemy hot on his tail, the Mandalorian soared away from the only home he’d ever known. _

***

He awoke with a start in a place he didn’t recognize. The Mandalorian had been to a lot of strange worlds, seen a lot of strange things, but wherever it was he’d ended up now was by far the strangest.

His surroundings looked vaguely like some he’d been in countless times before, but were also nothing like anything he knew at all. His eyes, still a bit blurred from sleep, scanned the room slowly. The windows, the doors, the furniture, everything was different.

Fragments of memories came rushing back to him, exploding behind his eyes like fireworks. Fleeing Mandalore with someone following close behind. His ship plummeting out of the mesosphere. Pain, and then darkness.

Hands. Gentle hands. Kind hands. A soft voice. A woman.

He rose to his feet and the room spun. His head throbbed, but the pain had lessened considerably from what it had been the night before.

Okay, first thing was first: find out where he was. Second: find his ship. Then....he didn’t know. Where exactly should he go from here?He was technically on the run. He couldn’t stay in one place for too long in case those hunters were still on his trail, but he couldn’t return to Mandalore either. He knew that his fellow Mandalorians would be missing him; wishing to turn to him for guidance in the wake of an unprecedented attack. But the best thing he could do for them right now was to stay gone. He couldn’t let the target on his back become theirs. His people would be fine without him, of that he was sure. He just wasn’t certain how he’d fair without  _ them _ . The strange walls started to close in around him as he realized that for the first time in a long time he was alone.

A loud, metallic crash from the other room made him jump, his hand instinctively flying to his hip to grip his blaster.

“Shit!” Someone hissed. Even in another language, the Mandalorian knew a curse when he heard it.

It wasn’t as calm and gentle as it had sounded last night, but he recognized the voice as that of the woman who’d patched him up a few short hours ago. This odd place must be her home. He hoped he hadn’t overstayed his welcome.

His heartbeat returned to its normal rhythm and he released his hold on his weapon as he took a few tentative steps toward the string of clanking sounds and expletives.

Leaning quietly against the doorframe, the Mandalorian took in what could only be a kitchen and one very frazzled looking chef. His savior, such as she was, was rooting around the inside of a cooling chamber, loading her arms with food. She was slight of frame, but delicate by no means, and her short chestnut hair was disheveled from sleep. Something about her screamed “small, but fierce.” Something he couldn’t yet decide if he should appreciate or be wary of. Perhaps it was safest to assume both.

She spun around to set a pair of plates down on her small dining table and when she glanced up and spotted him loitering, it was her turn to jump.

“Christ almighty!”

The Mandalorian came forward, lifting his hands, palms up, in a gesture of peace.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Rule number one, Tin Man,” she said, holding up her index finger and turning back to the stove. “I don’t like surprises.”

“Noted.”

He watched as she meticulously cracked three eggs and deposited their gooey golden contents into a pan. The yolks sizzled on contact.

“So, stranger, how do you like your eggs?”

Wait, she was cooking for him? Hadn’t she done enough already? The Mandalorian wasn’t used to being treated with such kindness. It was, honestly, a little unnerving.

“Um...edible?”

She shrugged. “Scrambled it is.”

She took up the spatula to start prodding the eggs, but he lifted it out of her grasp.

“Please, let me. You’ve been a big help to me, so let me at least return the favor.”

She stepped back to let the him work. While he effortlessly scrambled the eggs, she took to frying the bacon.

“How’s your head?”

“A little sore, but I’ll live. I have you to thank for that.”

He thought he saw her blush just then, but the redness in her cheeks could have just been due to the heat from the stove.

“Glad to hear it,” she said, a small crack in her voice. “If your noggin’s not pounding too much, maybe you won’t mind, then, if it gets a little noisy up in here.”

She fumbled a small dark rectangle out of her pocket and the moment her fingers flitted across the screen it lit up. With just a few quick taps, the piddling little communication screen began to emit one of the most ear splitting noises the Mandalorian had ever heard. Like a herd of Banthas being led through a grinder. Caught off guard but the sudden and terrible sound, he withdrew his blaster and pointed it directly at the comm screen in his host’s hand.

“What the kriff is  _ that _ ?!”

When she saw that he was armed, the comm screen immediately slipped from her hand as she threw both of them up defensively. It hit the ground with a satisfying thud but continued to play.

“Whoa! Be cool! Calm down! It’s just ‘Vertigo’! They don’t have music where you come from?!”

“That is NOT music!”

She reached down, slowly, retrieved the blasted device and killed the “music”.

“Okay, spaceman, if you’re going to live under my roof, you will not DARE insult Bono, or U2 as a whole for that matter, like that again. That’s rule two. And the gun gets put away. Permanently. Understand? Rule three.”

He lowered the weapon as his heart rate slowed to normal for the second time in a span of 20 minutes. His blaster once again holstered, he cocked his helmeted head to the side in visible confusion.

“What’s a... _ Bono _ ?”

The woman laughed at that and he wasn’t sure why. 

“Clearly, you have a lot to learn about this place. You’ve probably got a lot of questions. Am I right?”

He nodded. 

“I’ve got a few of my own, spaceman. So how’s about we have a little chat after breakfast?”

“I’m not a spaceman,” he said dryly.

“What?”

“I’m not a  _ spaceman _ . I’m a Mandalorian.” 

“Okay, I’ll save my ‘what the heck is a Mandalorian’ question for after we eat. What I’d really like to know now, more than anything, is what to call you. You got a name, mr. space- _Mandalorian_?”

It wasn’t common for a Mandalorian, this one anyway, to go handing out his name like bounty pucks. Sharing such an intimate detail with another required a certain level of trust. And trust had to be earned and earned well. He couldn’t just reveal his identity to some woman he’d just met, regardless of the help she’d given. This was the creed. This was the way.

“It’s Din,” he found himself saying anyway. “Din Djarin.” 

The softest of smiles spread across her face and she extended a hand, which he took.

“And I’m Sara Murphy,” she said, shaking the hand of her new acquaintance. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Din.” 

He was grateful that his helmet concealed the sudden redness that had blossomed in his cheeks.

“Likewise, Sara.”


End file.
